


A Hand in the Affair

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Canon Era, Casual Sex, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e07 The Breaking Point, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 17:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21305675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: Despite what everyone said, George usually didn't like to give a free show, even to someone he liked as much as Lip.(Or, George totally gives Lip a free show.)
Relationships: Carwood Lipton/George Luz
Comments: 16
Kudos: 56
Collections: Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme





	A Hand in the Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to ThrillingDetectiveTales for beta reading.
> 
> For the LLSS prompt: "Lip wakes up to hear Luz jerking off, when Luz realizes Lip is listening, he puts on a show." Which prompt I actually fucking stayed on for once.

"Need a hand with that, Sarge?" George asked, but he didn't wait for Lip's answer before he took his barracks bag and hauled it over his own shoulder.

Lip nodded a weary thanks and trudged after George towards their latest billet: a battered farmhouse that had enough of the roof blown off that George wondered if it was safe to spend the night. No one was shelling it now, anyway, and being the company HQ's radioman meant that George got to stay in the house with the officers, not in the draughty barn with first platoon.

It was already dark, and starting to snow again, like it'd snowed most nights since they'd started their march for Alsace and whatever the Nazis were throwing at them this time.

Lip had picked up a cough that George didn't like, and was perspiring even in the cold. George picked the nicest bedroom he could get away with, and tossed both their bags into it. When he turned, Lip was leaning against the door huffing slightly. Snow was melting off his helmet and dripping onto his shoulders, and he looked far too pasty and worn out.

"Why don't you take the bed," George said. There was only one, but George didn't mind the floor. A nice dry floor with most of the roof over it? Luxury. He kicked the stray shards of glass under the bed and jerked his head towards the broken window. "Gonna nail a board over that."

"I should—" Lip started to say, and George could see him running a priority list through his head, trying to work out who needed him the most, or at least who could survive without being looked in on. He looked so pale and lost in that moment that George felt a knot tighten in his chest.

"Wanna smoke?" George asked, holding out the pack.

Lip turned to look at George, wide-eyed with surprise, as though he'd forgotten anyone else was there. George noticed that Lip didn't just turn his head, but his whole body so that he stood facing George. Lip looked at the carton, and then at George, and made a small, helpless gesture with his hand, like he had never seen a pack of smokes before, and had no idea if he wanted one or not. One choice too many.

"Here, I'll give you a smoke," George tried again. He drew two out of the pack and put them both between his lips, then held the lighter to both at once, inhaling until they caught. He handed one to Lip, who took it automatically and put it in his mouth. "See, there you go. Have a smoke with me, and then we'll go make sure everyone's tucked in."

"You don't"—Lip coughed and cleared his throat—"have to come. You should pack it in."

"Nah, I'm on radio watch until midnight anyway," George said. He should be doing that now, not standing around smoking with the first sergeant. The cherry of the cigarette cast a faint glow on Lip's face, reflecting in his eyes, and right then George knew he wouldn't leave. "Come on, Sarge, let's get you to bed."

It was a sign of how far gone down into exhaustion Lipton was that he let George herd him back into the room and pull his boots off, and another sign that he didn't even try to give George the single bed. Instead he huddled in on himself, clutching the inadequate blanket to his body as he shivered. He was still holding the cigarette. George watched him until it burned down almost to his fingers, then took it away and ground it out under his heel. Lip was already asleep by then, or his eyes were closed, at least.

What George wanted to do was crawl under the blankets, wrap Lip in his arms, and hold on until both their bodies were finally fucking warm. He wanted to run his hands over Lip's strong, scared body and give him something to feel good about for once. He wanted to tell Lip that they two, at least, were going to make it, and that they wouldn't lose any more friends.

George went outside, pried a couple of boards off a ruined corner of the porch and nailed them across the broken window. He almost called out for Perco to help him, before he remembered that Perco was in a field hospital, and had been for almost a week. Half of George's old platoon was gone, and most of the rest were replacements anyway. There was no point asking them for help.

Captain Speirs gave him a strange look when he went back in and took over the radio, but George didn't give a shit about that. All Speirs' looks were strange anyway, but they were better than Dike and his absences. Speirs might or might not kill his own people, but he'd protect them too.

The radio was quiet for the rest of the night. God forbid anything interrupt their headless rush into more action. George wished that someday he'd get to be the guy that passed the word they were getting taken off the line, and they actually _were_ taken off the line, not just sent some place else to fight another batch of Krauts. Weren't the Nazis supposed to be all but finished?

"We're leaving first light," Speirs said as George handed the radio off. He didn't seem to be going to bed. George entertained the idea that he might be a vampire.

"Yes, sir," George agreed. That'd give him seven hours of sack time.

Even with the boards cutting the wind and the bedroom door pulled closed, it was still too cold in George and Lip's room. Lip's breathing sounded a bit better at least, deep and even as though he were soundly asleep. Good. George set his helmet and rifle aside as quietly as he could and undid his belt and suspenders, but decided there wasn't much point taking off anything else. He might as well sleep in his boots. Using his pack as a pillow, he crawled into his sleeping bag, and closed his eyes.

Lip's steady breathing filled the room, snorting a little sometimes, but not bad. George listened to it and tried to count backwards from a hundred with every breath.

Christ, it was cold. How come every time the Germans decided they needed their asses kicked, it was either pouring rain or freezing cold? Why couldn't they ever seem to pick a fight in nice weather? George realised his teeth were chattering, and clenched his jaw against his shivers.

The problem was that he'd been sitting nice and still next to the radio for the last five hours. None of his blood was pumping any more. If he could generate some heat, he'd drop right off, and the cold wouldn't be so bad once he was out.

George made himself still and listened to Lip. There was no sign that he was awake. A shaft of moonlight got in through a gap in the boards, enough to make out shapes, and Lip was lying as still as the dead, sound asleep.

George reached down into his sleeping bag and rubbed his hand over his crotch. The slight pressure felt nice, and he considered what to do next. Taking the time to jerk himself off would at least relax him, and would probably get his blood pumping enough to warm himself up. Despite what everyone said, George usually didn't like to give a free show, even to someone he liked as much as Lip. However, Lipton was out like a rock.

His fingers were cold enough that unzipping his fly took too many tries. George stuck his hand between his thighs to warm it up before he touched his dick, and considered what to think about. He liked to have a good narrative if he was going to take his time about things, something to build up intensity with.

He'd imagine he was Marlene Dietrich in The Seven Sinners, and John Wayne was going to show him a thing or two. Or that he was John Wayne, and ditto Marlene, depending on the day. Or, when over-watched propaganda films wore thin, George would make up his own stories. One thing he'd never been short on, even as one of a dozen kids during the Depression, was imagination. George would put himself in the pulps, write his own pulps, have every daring sexcapade his young mind could think up, and then invent some more.

George glanced over at the darker shadow that was Lip's sleeping form and bit his lip. A few of his more guilty fantasies revolved around the men of his company. George had one about Captain Winters and Captain Nixon taking him to bed and fucking him from both ends at once. He used to have one about Joe Toye, and... George's hand had tightened on the inside of his thigh, and he let that one fall aside. He couldn't think about Joe, or Bill or any of the others any more. All he could do was push all those memories away until it was safe, until he could be free to cry until his eyes were red and he didn't have any tears left.

Frowning, George forced himself to go back to his mental catalogue of fantasies.

He had one about Lip, too, had it since the first time he'd seen the man in PT gear. Those little black shorts had done a lot for George's fantasy life over the last few years. George closed his fingers around his dick, and considered.

He'd go with the shower one, he decided. He liked that one, and it was safe and away from anything like the Ardennes or whatever hellish corner of France they were in now. George stroked himself gently and thought about standing naked under warm flowing water. He'd like that: to wash all the grime off his body after a hot day of PT. They'd have been out on a march or something nothing difficult or dangerous, just enough work to get everyone all sweaty.

For some reason, in this scenario, George would have the showers to himself. He'd be standing under the hot water enjoying the small ecstasy of being soapy and clean, when he'd hear someone coming in. George wouldn't be bothered by that, wouldn't even look up until the other man walked up and put his hand on George's shoulder. Then he'd turn, but slowly, not startled, and see that Lip was standing behind him.

George started to stroke himself a little faster as he imagined Lip naked, his hair mussed from wearing a helmet, his skin flushed and pink. It'd be warm in the showers; they'd both be warm. George would ask Lip if he could help with something, aware, suddenly, that he was naked and dripping wet. In his mind's eye, Lip looked George up and down and seemed to like what he saw. He smiled slowly and said with that touch of a West Virginia drawl that sometimes came out, "Well, George, I was wondering if you could wash my back."

"Sure, Sarge," George would say, then cheekily add, "That all you want me to wash?"

Lip would smile and maybe blush a little, but wouldn't say anything one way or the other, just step under the spray with George. He'd stand there, his strong body gleaming with water, and George would start stoking down his back with a bar of soap. Feeling the muscles tremble under his fingers, George would start to dig in a little, massaging as he washed. Lip would drop his head and moan in pleasure, and George'd keep touching him. It wouldn't take long for George to get more bold. He'd step in until his hips brushed Lip's ass, and Lip would let him, not caring that George's cock pushed between his thighs.

George tightened his grip on his cock and twisted around the head a little. He wanted to imagine thrusting between Lip's thighs, but that would mean things would be over too fast. He was holding onto the pleasure of this for every moment he could, and there wasn't any sense in just getting it over with, no matter how much he wanted to sleep. When was the next time he'd have a closed door and a moment to himself?

He imagined Lip turning around then, and taking George's face in his hands and kissing him. Lip would be such a gentle kisser. He would touch George's mouth with his lips, make sure he wanted it before he pressed harder. Of course George would want it, and soon they'd be backed up against the wall, the hot water falling over both of them as Lip kissed George carefully and thoroughly. George would start rubbing his cock against Lip's thigh, but Lip would stand wide and not let him get away with that.

"Hold still," Lip'd say, "I got plans for you."

George would whine, and try to wriggle out of Lip's hold, but Lip's strong arms would hold him in place. He'd reach down and stroke George a couple of times, a promise of what was to come.

George imagined that slick, wet grip on his cock, just two firm strokes, like that. He let out a harsh breath as he touched himself. He could feel perspiration beading on his forehead, and his hips rolled against his own hand as they did against Lipton's in his imagination.

In the bed beside George, the real Lip went still. George heard his breathing catch, and then resume, but more shallowly than before.

George cracked an eye open. The moonlight caught a gleam of Lip's open eyes. He was watching George jerk himself off, watching, and not saying a damn thing. George didn't think Lip had caught on that George knew, and kept idly pumping himself while he worked out what to do.

He could stop. He was plenty warmed up already, and it wasn't like he needed to come just then. If he rolled on his side with his back to Lip, he'd be just fine until morning. Lip might realise that George had spotted him watching, but he might just think things had come to their natural conclusion, and George had fallen asleep.

Or, George thought, he could keep going. He could show Lip that a little bit of life and happiness was possible in this god-forsaken hell hole; he could show Lip that pleasure still existed. Lip hadn't commented, or made any kind of noise to indicate that he wanted George to stop, or even that he was awake. If he was already watching, why not let Lip have that?

George closed his eyes again, and jerked his hand up his dick. This time, he let a small moan escape his lips. He rolled his hips more obviously, the movement broad enough to be visible through his sleeping bag.

Knowing Lip was watching, George didn't need to go back to his fantasy; the other man's eyes on him were enough. Hell, he'd dreamed of just this a time or two, though it usually started with his imagined Lipton saying something about wanting to see George pleasure himself, asking him to put on a show for him.

George did just that this time. He stroked his dick and bit his lip and rolled his head back against his pack. He needed some slick to really get things going, but even just his thumb sliding over the head, smearing the pre-come around moved him along. He thought about Lip's eyes hot on him, imagined being wanted, and let another small groan escape his lips. This time, he rocked up into his hand and let out a huffing breath when he did.

He needed to feel more; he needed to feel tight, hot pleasure around him. George drew his hand out from under the blankets and spat on it, then went back to stroking his cock. The spit worked wonders, making the slide of his hand over his dick more like a smooth ride between someone's thighs, if not all the way to having someone's mouth on his dick. George sighed with relief and stroked himself faster. He let out a little hum of pleasure with each stroke and followed that up with a sigh between them. As his slicked hand rode up and down his cock, he rocked his hips, and imagined that he was thrusting into someone else's grip. He could feel his blood heating and his heart started to thud in his ears.

George cast a quick look sideways, and saw that Lip was still watching him avidly. There was a gleam where the light caught his parted lips. George had a harder time hearing Lip over his own panting breaths, but he was pretty sure he was breathing harder too.

George smiled to himself and arched his back to thrust his hips in the air. He turned his face towards Lip and let his mouth hang open as he worked his thumb under the head of his cock and whimpered at the pressure. He was getting close. He dropped his other hand and palmed his balls. the shock of cold against them when the inside of the sleeping bag had gotten so warm gave the pleasure just that much of an edge. George squeezed his sack at the same time as he jerked and twisted his hand up his cock, making the movement hard and fast, just like Lip did in some of his rougher fantasies. George moaned dramatically as he did and rocked his hip's up. "Oh, yeah," he muttered, "yeah. Jesus."

It felt so good to just let himself go, let himself take pleasure even if it was just in his own actions. Lipton's eyes were still fixed on him, and George could hear him starting to pant too, as George's little show began to turn his crank. George wished he could draw it out longer, tease Lip closer to the edge, but he'd overplayed his hand. He couldn't stop himself now. George rocked up into his hand, whining with each thrust and stroking his balls on the way down, making his body hum with pleasure. He could feel himself drawing in, the tension of the nearing orgasm making his skin tingle. His breath started to come in hitches as he kept himself from crying out for real. No sense bringing the whole CP down on them.

"God," Lip moaned from the bed, and George grinned. he knew his teeth would flash white in the moonlight, and the Lip would know that he'd heard.

That was good. George wanted Lip to know that this was for him. He squeezed his eyes shut and rocked against his hand, movements coming in ragged jerks now, until finally the friction was enough to push him over the edge and he came. "Oh, Jesus," George moaned. "Jesus, Carwood, please."

He slumped back against the floor, not even pretending exhaustion. The pleasure of the orgasm felt like it had warmed the whole room, and as George's heart settled down, he knew he'd fall right to sleep with it. He settled the pack under his head and wiggled his ass like that would somehow make the wooden floor more comfortable.

Only George couldn't resist another sideways glance to see what Lip's reaction might be. Lip was still watching, and when he saw George looking, he flashed a small smile and said, "'Jesus, Carwood, please'?"

George snorted. "Okay, maybe that was overdoing it," he admitted. "But in for a penny and all that."

Lip was silent for a moment, and George had to wonder if maybe the saying wasn't true, and getting in for more than a penny was what hanged you. But then Lip hummed to himself and said, "You say my name when you come all the time?"

"Only when I'm thinking of you, my darling." George said it with a husky feminine voice that could have been Mae West, or maybe Marlene on a rough day.

Lip snorted, then fell silent. He was still watching George, his lips still parted, and now that George was thinking straight again, he could hear Lip's breathing had picked up.

George kept the accent, whatever it was, and asked, "You want me to come up there and help you out, big boy?"

Again Lip froze, and even in the dark George could see him thinking too hard, giving the question more weight than it needed. Like George was offering something huge and complicated, when really it wasn't all that, just a couple buddies making a cold night pass more quickly.

"I'm gonna just..." George wiggled out of his sleeping bag, tugging it after him so he could lay it on top of both of them. The room was brutally cold after being huddled up in a pool of his own warmth. George hesitated at the foot of the cot, but Lip hadn't said he didn't want George in bed with him, so he pulled up the edge of the blankets and wormed into a spot between Lipton's back and the wall.

They were both fully dressed, but Lip was a big guy, and he'd made a cocoon of blankets and clothes around himself that was something close to warm by now. George wiggled until his hips were pressed to Lip's ass, and his chest ran along Lip's back. Lip was holding himself perfectly still, not saying a word, but when George dropped an arm around his waist and tugged their bodies tight, Lip's gloved hands closed around George's bare one.

"See, ain't that nicer?" George asked. He rested his forehead against the back of Lip's head and closed his eyes. They should have done this in the first place. It wasn't like anyone gave a shit if two guys were sharing warmth on a night like this.

"Used to call this a 'two dog night,'" Lip said softly, like he was talking to himself. He coughed, and George pulled him closer, trying to will the warmth and health out of his body into Lipton's.

"How's that, Sarge?" George asked. He started to move his hand in circles across Lip's stomach, and Lip moaned softly before answering.

"Kinda night where you needed to bring both dogs to bed with ya to keep warm," Lip explained.

"You comparing me to Fido now?" George asked. Lipton's answering laugh made both their bodies shake, and then Lip cough again.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Lip said. He rocked his head on the pillow and seemed like he was going to settle back to sleep.

George's body was still humming along on the after rush of jerking off, and he could use the nap too, but this also felt like the best chance he was going to get at showing Lip a good time. He let his strokes move further south, until he found the edge of Lip's trousers. Lip's breathing hitched, but he didn't say anything, certainly didn't protest as George felt around until his hand closed over Lip's half-hard dick and squeezed it lightly through his pants.

Lipton let out a breath that seemed to have stuck in his throat, and said, "You don't have to, George."

"Ain't nobody got a gun to my head," George answered, then because Lip seemed out of it enough that his conscience was pricking him, added, "You don't hafta either, you know."

"No, I..." Lip stopped. He shook his head slightly, and instead of saying anything else, covered George's hand with his own again and squeezed both down over his cock.

That was good enough for George. He got his patented one hand fly-button flip going, and his hand inside Lipton's skivvies a few seconds later.

Lip either grunted, or moaned, "Oh, God," George couldn't tell which. Both worked for him anyway. He stroked tentatively up the length of Lip's cock, getting a feel for it, trying to tell what Lip liked from the sounds he made. George settled into long steady pulls with a grip a bit firmer than he personally liked. Lip moaned softly and rocked his ass back against George. His grip moved up to George's forearm, and he held on tight.

George kept his forehead pressed to the back of Lipton's neck and enjoyed the sounds Lip was making and the way the two of them wrapped up tight quickly became toasty warm. It'd been far too long since he'd had anything like this. The last person who'd held him had been Lipton on that terrible night of shelling, when he'd pulled George into the foxhole and wrapped his body protectively around him, like that would do a damn thing if they were actually hit. Since then, George had been shoulder to shoulder with any number of fellows, but not held, and he hadn't held anyone either.

The army was good at giving a guy just a bit of contact, and then leaving him hungry for the rest. Maybe they wanted you to think about back home and what you were fighting for. George mostly thought about the other guys.

He usually liked to chat a guy up, once he had him in his arms, but Lip seemed like the silent type, so George kept it to himself. He rubbed his crotch against Lipton's ass and stroked his dick, but didn't tell him how good he felt, or how much George liked the way he groaned when George played with his foreskin. George didn't tell Lip how much he liked the way he looked, or about any of the dozen little fantasies George had spun out about him, starting with the one in the shower and getting more elaborate from there.

"Oh, God," Lip muttered when he started to get close, and then kept saying it over and over like he was praying. Part of George wanted to drag it out, see what he could get Lip to say, see if maybe he could tease him into George's name, but he knew they were both too worn down for that kind of game. Instead, he kept his hands steady and listened to Lip's hoarse breathing fill the room. He whined a bit each time George stroked him now, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

"Hey, easy, I gotcha," George murmured, and pressed a kiss to the back of Lip's neck. He tasted of sweat and grime, but George kept his lips there as his hand worked Lip's cock in a staccato burst that pushed him over the edge.

"Oh," Lip whispered, and stiffened in George's arms. He made small, high whimpers after that, as George kept stroking him through his orgasm, then fell silent. George almost started to wonder if Lip had fallen asleep with George's hand on his dick, but finally, Lip sighed softly and said, "Thank you," almost too quiet to hear.

"Don't mention it," George said. He wiped his hand on the blankets and tucked Lip's dick away before doing up his fly for him. He slipped his hand under the hem of Lip's shirt and under his wool undershirt so that he could lay it flat across Lip's belly.

"Oh," Lip said again, but more softly. He was still holding onto George's arm, and George heard a catch in his breath that made his shoulders shake. For a moment, George wondered if Lip was going to let himself weep, but he just settled and sighed to himself before drifting off to sleep.

George stayed awake a little longer, holding Lipton and thinking how nice it would be to be able to do this every night. Even then, he knew it was as much a fantasy as having the showers to himself, but there was no harm in unfounded optimism.

In the morning, George work up with his cock hard and pressed against Lip's ass, his hand still tucked inside Lip's shirt. Lip laughed at him, and shook free of the blankets, telling George to get back to work.

It was as though nothing had happened between them. Save that when George sat up and held out a cigarette to Lip, their fingers brushed, and Lip smiled just a little more widely. Save that offering a cigarette hadn't brought that lost, overwhelmed look to Lip's eyes again. Maybe that was just getting a night's rest, but George liked to think he'd had a hand in it too.

He laughed when the double entendre occurred to him, and Lip laughed too, just to see George smiling.

And, all right, Lip always had a smile for his boys, but maybe this time it meant a little more to George. And, after all, George could dream.


End file.
